


The Right Time

by jankmusic



Series: The Drabble Collection [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Fluff, F/M, Family, Miscarriage, Rated T for swearing and sensitive topics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jankmusic/pseuds/jankmusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes starting a family isn't so easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This One-a-Day Challenge drabble turned into a monster in my head, and I've been thinking about it a lot.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

“I’m p-pregnant!”

 

Sherlock looked up from his microscope to stare at his wife. For a few seconds they held their gazes, and then Molly’s face crumbled, she was sobbing, and then she covered her face as she tried to take heaving breaths. It took no time for Sherlock to launch from his seat and gently gather Molly in his arms. He held her in the doorway of the kitchen until she calmed down. “A-after months of t-trying, we finally…” she trailed off, wiping at her eyes.

 

Sherlock leaned his forehead against hers, cupping her cheeks in his hands. Then he kissed her forehead, cheeks, any place on her face that he could reach. He didn’t have the words to properly convey how happy he was, and he hoped he was showing her adequately.

 

\-----

 

“Molly is six weeks pregnant.”

 

John Watson nearly bowled Sherlock over as he wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly, or as tightly as he could with his seven month hold son still in his arms. “Congratulations!” he exclaimed once he pulled away, grinning broadly at his best friend and former roommate. A grin rivaling his own spread across Sherlock’s face, and John knew he had never seen the man so ecstatic in his life. “How long have you known?”

 

“Only a week. Molly had an appointment this morning and afterwards she gave me permission to tell a few people.”

 

“This is really, really good news!” John said, tightening his grip on his son. “Isn’t that right, Jonathan?” The baby just babbled and screeched happily, then sucked on his fist. Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh at the child’s enthusiastic response. “Is it alright if I tell Mary?”

 

Sherlock nodded his head. “But Molly insisted that you keep it off the blog, for now. Since we had difficulty conceiving, she doesn’t want to—”

 

“I understand,” John said, cutting off his friend. “Want a cuppa? I was about to put the kettle on once Jonathan had his bottle.”

 

“I can feed him,” Sherlock offered, immediately taking Jonathan from his friend and tucking him into his side. He went straight to the reclining chair and sat down. On the small table beside the chair was a bib and a warmed bottle. John left Sherlock to feed his son and went into the kitchen to boil water for tea.

 

John felt giddy as he periodically glanced at Sherlock as he shuffled around the kitchen, gathering biscuits and other little sweets to have with their tea. This was obviously a time for celebration and excitement over the prospect of finally having a close friend to talk to about fatherhood.

 

After the tea and treats, Sherlock reluctantly pulled himself away from John and his son so he could tell a few other people the good news. He couldn’t help his grin though, as he hailed a cab and gave the address to New Scotland Yard. He knew Detective Inspector Lestrade was going to be very happy about it, and he kept trying not to imagine his reaction.

 

He wanted to see it in person and not pre-deduced before he even arrived. To stop himself from thinking, he texted Molly, _‘I told John and I’m on my way to the yard to talk to Lestrade. Do you need anything?—SH’_

 

Her response was almost instantaneous. _‘You can come by Bart’s. I’m going to be in the lab all day and I’m already bored. You can work on an experiment or something, right?’_

 

Sherlock smiled to himself and responded with, _‘I’ll be there within an hour. If you have any toes to spare, I’m sure I could find a use for them.—SH’_

 

\-----

 

It was raining hard in London, filling the streets with water, but the occupants of Baker Street hardly noticed.

 

“Molly, let me in, please.”

 

“No. Just leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone. I can’t—not right now. Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock struggled with the locked bathroom door. Two glorious weeks of feeling like he was on cloud nine were torn away from him not even fifteen minutes ago when his wife came home and brokenly told him she miscarried. Then she promptly locked herself in the bathroom, and no amount of pleading on his behalf could get her to leave.

 

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

 

He heard the door unlock and he took a step back. Molly opened the door wide enough so Sherlock could see her. “If I can have one hour to pull myself together, we can talk, alright?” She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze before retreating back into the room and closing the door.

 

This time, she didn’t lock it.

 

Not wanting to be in the flat anymore, Sherlock found himself running about, slipping on his shoes without socks and rushing down the stairs and out the door. He didn’t bother to exchange his robe for his Belstaff, relishing in the cold rain pelting his skin.

 

His mind was running a mile a minute as he tried to deduce what exactly happened, and before he knew it, he was standing outside John and Mary’s flat. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but eventually the door opened.

 

“Sherlock?”

 

He blinked his eyes and focused on his friend, realizing that tears were pouring out of his eyes, obscuring his vision more than the rain. _When did I start crying? And why is it so hard to breathe?_ The rain was pouring harder around him, but he didn’t seem to care. He took a few steps forward and sank down on the steps.

 

At least in the rain, no one could tell that he was crying.

 

“It’s raining, Sherlock, and you’re in your pajamas. You’re going to get sick.” He felt a hand on his shoulder, but Sherlock shook it off.

 

“Molly…” he gasped, feeling a clench around his heart. There was a beat of silence above him, and then,

 

“Did you two get in a fight?”

 

He couldn’t help it, he snorted. If only it were a fight that dragged him out in the middle of a storm. “She lost the baby.”

 

It was barely three seconds before Sherlock heard a door close and then John joined him on the steps, clad in his own sleepwear and robe. “I am so sorry.” He wrapped his arm around his shoulders and Sherlock wept openly.

 

\-----

 

Time passed uneventfully in the Holmes household. Molly and Sherlock, after grieving together, decided that after some time they would try again. Summer slowly moved to autumn, bringing along more cases, experiments, and work for Sherlock. He kept himself busy, as did Molly.

 

The amount of work the married couple was doing was nearly unhealthy, but everyone was too afraid to broach the subject with them.

 

It wasn’t until after Jonathan’s first birthday party in November that Sherlock and Molly discussed trying again.

 

And they tried.

 

And they tried.

 

_And they tried._

 

After John and Mary quietly announced their second pregnancy at the beginning of December, after countless pregnancy tests, let downs, and after four months of trying, Molly was ready to give up. Not only was she emotionally drained, but she was physically exhausted too. Trying to conceive was like a full time job, and she already had one of those. The strain on her relationship with Sherlock and even her friends was putting additional weight on her shoulders, and she was struggling to cope.

 

“What are you thinking?”

 

Molly shook her head, hoping to clear her thoughts. She looked at Sherlock; he was on the couch, his limbs askew as if he threw himself on the furniture and didn’t bother to adjust. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

 

There was silence for a few moments, and then Sherlock turned his head so he could see her more clearly. “You are smart enough to know that I can tell when you’re lying to me, Molly.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Sherlock sat up abruptly, and Molly could see he was tense and ready for a fight. “You are tired, that’s obvious. But you weren’t thinking about _nothing_.”

 

“It’s not important.”

 

“Everything is important.”

 

“I’m just tired, Sherlock!” she shrieked, her voice hitting an octave she was sure Sherlock had never heard from her before. She curled up tighter in the chair, wrapping her arms around her knees. She lowered her voice so Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t hear them from downstairs. “Can’t I be tired? Can’t I be tired of going to the doctors? Can’t I be tired of having sex with you when it’s not fun anymore? Everything about this relationship is _work_. All of it. I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired of it all. I’m just tired!”

 

“You don’t think I’m tired?”

 

“I don’t know what you bloody well think because you’re a machine!”

 

It was so silent in Baker Street you could hear a pin drop. If Molly had ever regretted anything in her life, it was that last statement; she knew the history of that insult with Sherlock, and she how wrong it was to throw those words back at him after the amount of time he’s spent proving to not just her but all their friends that he _wasn’t_ a machine, that he was human, that he felt just as much if not more than his friends. She opened her mouth but nothing came out, as if nothing she could offer up as an apology would be enough.

 

“I’m not a machine,” Sherlock whispered, his voice shaking. Molly couldn’t even bring herself to look him in the eyes.

 

“I—I know—I—”

 

“And I’ve tried telling you how I feel but you don’t listen.”

 

“I listen!”

 

“No you don’t. If you listened, you would know that I don’t like going to John and Mary’s without you when they invite us over for dinner because they just stare at me with pitying looks and—”

 

“You can’t blame me for not going over there. You can’t think I actually enjoy seeing their little growing family? That Mary is all expecting and glowing and happy, while I’m just a—an empty broken woman?” Molly snapped, glaring at Sherlock. “How can you expect me to eat with them when they’ve managed to conceive two children in the year and a half I’ve tried to have one?”

 

“ _You?_ ” he snarled, leaping to his feet. “This isn’t all about you, Molly Hooper!” His jaw clenched and Molly could easily see what he wasn’t saying.

 

She didn’t even bother to correct him for using her maiden name as she moved to stand. “There is nothing wrong with me!” Sherlock opened his mouth to counter, but Molly quickly cut him off, saying, “None of this is my fault. If anything—” She stopped herself, slapping a hand over her mouth, startled by what she was going to say.

 

“If anything what, Molly?” Sherlock growled. “That this is _my_ fault? That the dangerous lifestyle I had prior to marrying you is the reason that we have been unable to start a family?” He couldn’t hide the pain from his eyes even if he wanted to. “You don’t have to even say anything, I can deduce—”

 

“Just shut up!” Molly roared, her tiny frame shaking as she closed the distance between them. “I don’t care about your deductions! I don’t care about anything—”

 

“You don’t care that we’ve been unable to have children?”

 

Sherlock didn’t even see it coming. Molly’s hand flew through the air and she smacked him with as much force as she was able. “How dare you even say that?” she growled. “Not a day has gone by since I’ve miscarried where I haven’t thought about our fertility problems. And if you think I was capable of being so disconnected to reality, then you don’t know me at all, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

She crossed the room and grabbed her coat and half slipped on her trainers.

 

“Molly, wait.” Sherlock followed her to the stairs, his hand still clutching his cheek. She bounded down the stairs quickly, not turning back. “Molly!”

 

He was met with the door downstairs slamming loudly. The entire flat shook with the force of it. Then Sherlock saw Mrs. Hudson peek her head out from her door. “Is everything alright, dearie?”

 

Sherlock slammed his door in response. He wandered over to the window to see where Molly was headed off to, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from the window and threw himself on the couch. Molly wasn’t known for storming out during arguments and he assumed that she would be back within the hour so they could resolve any issues that were between them.

 

He worked hard to ignore the clenching around his heart and the nausea that swept through his stomach and the feeling that the world had dropped out from beneath his feet. He and Molly had their fair share of arguments, but nothing like this, and never had she laid a finger on him in an act of violence.

 

When two and a half hours passed and the entire flat was cloaked in darkness, Sherlock began to worry a tad bit. _‘Where are you?—SH’_ He sent the text and waited impatiently for a few minutes before sending another text. _‘It’s late. You need to return home.—SH’_

 

Two more hours passed and it was nearing one in the morning. Sherlock paced around the flat, a dozen text messages sent with no response. He thought about calling John or Mary, but he knew the likelihood of her being there was slim, especially given her reasoning during their argument. He did one final lap around the living room before he made up his mind and went to his bedroom to change out of his pajamas so he could start searching London for her. He put on what he was wearing earlier, ignoring the fact that the clothing was wrinkled. He put on fresh socks, slipped on his shoes, and left his room.

 

He stopped when he saw Lestrade standing in the entryway to the flat. The aching feeling in his chest and nausea increased as he stared at the tired looking Detective Inspector. “What?” Sherlock croaked, unable to deduce whether or not he was there to tell him bad news.

 

Lestrade crossed the room quickly, only pausing to turn on a lamp before he wrapped his arms around the consulting detective. Sherlock stiffened, keeping his arms tightly at his sides. “She’s safe, fast asleep in my bed at my flat.”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Just wrap your fucking arms around me!” Lestrade snapped.

 

“Why?” Sherlock did so unwillingly.

 

“Because your arse of a brother is doing a shit job being there for you and your mother is just about incapable of seeing that you and your wife are hurting and are desperately in need of comfort! Now shut the hell up and hold me.”

 

Sherlock huffed softly, but soon he found his arms tightening around Lestrade and his face buried in his neck, burning hot tears escaping his eyes. Then his knees buckled, and Lestrade half dragged him to the couch, still clutching him tightly.

 

\-----

 

Molly woke up and her brain was pounding. She opened her eyes, only to squeeze them shut again. With her eyes closed, she tried to get her bearings. Everything was wrong; the smell of her flat, the feeling of the pillows, even the temperature of the room was off.

 

Her eyes snapped open when she realized she wasn’t in her flat at all, but Lestrade’s flat instead. She turned her head to see if there was a clock nearby and jumped when she saw Sherlock curled up on the floor, his scarf being used as a pillow and his coat as a blanket.

 

When she stood up from the bed, his eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly. They eyed each other warily for a moment, and then Sherlock made a small hand motion for Molly to join him. She wasted no time in crossing the room and sitting down in his lap, curling around him. He wrapped his arms around her, and they stayed that way for a few minutes.

 

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock finally whispered, his voice gravelly and hoarse.

 

“I’m sorry too.”

 

“We’re not okay.”

 

Molly pressed her forehead against his chest. “No we’re not.” She squeezed her eyes shut and took a shuddering breath. “But we’re not shattered pieces of glass. We can fix this.”

 

Sherlock hummed in ascent, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We haven’t been on a vacation since our honeymoon,” he began, running a hand up and down her spine. “I think it would be a brilliant idea if we went away for a week or two.”

 

Molly was quiet for a moment, and then she slowly pulled away from his chest, looking at him tiredly. “You already took care of everything.”

 

He nodded his head, even though it wasn’t a question. “Mike Stamford has allotted you three weeks of vacation time. Mrs. Hudson will watch Toby. Mycroft will purchase our plane tickets to whatever destination you choose.”

 

Molly resumed her position with her head pressed against him. “I hear New Zealand is nice this time of year. Isn’t March the beginning of autumn?”

 

Sherlock tightened his hold on her. “It will be very nice.”

 

“And maybe afterwards, we can see a fertility specialist?”

 

Sherlock pressed another kiss to the top of her head. “That appears to be the best step in the right direction.”

 

Molly exhaled slowly, feeling the weight she had been carrying on her shoulders for nearly a year lighten.  

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting poked and prodded by a doctor is never fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is here, and chapter three should be complete by the end of the day, tomorrow morning. Thank you so much for reading!

Sixteen days to bask in the New Zealand warmth was more than what Sherlock and Molly could have hoped to experience. While they were away, they swam, explored, solved two minor cases involving various small birds, talked to each other, cuddled, ate more than they should have, and didn’t answer their phones. (Luckily, John knew about their impromptu vacation and updated his blog and Sherlock’s. They didn’t even receive that many phone calls.)

 

They poured their hearts out to each other on their first evening, sharing their fears and concerns, and they began exploring what options they could take once they got back to London. Then they chose not to really discuss anything dealing with fertility for the remainder of the vacation, since they already called and made an appointment to see a specialist once they returned.

 

It was only once they returned to their immaculate flat and were once again cuddling in bed, this time with Toby purring contentedly beside them that Molly brought up John and Mary. “I owe them a huge apology. It was selfish of me—”

 

Sherlock cut her off quickly, whispering, “They understand, Molly, and they don’t blame you.”

 

“I know…I was just…I feel terrible.” She began wringing her hands and chewing on her bottom lip. Sherlock shuffled down the bed until his forehead was pressed between her shoulder blades. He wrapped his arms around her, effectively trapping her hands to her chest. Then he slipped his free hand beneath the hem of her shirt. He stroked her stomach gently.

 

“You feel terrible?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“I can make you feel better.”

 

Molly stood up from the bed and scooped Toby in her arms. “Sorry kitty. I’ll let you in later.” She placed the cat just outside the bedroom door before closing it softly and making her way back to the bed, where Sherlock was waiting for her.

 

\-----

 

Molly stood outside John and Mary’s flat, trying to psyche herself into ringing the doorbell. She had been standing alone on their doorstep for only a few minutes, Sherlock having long since disappeared. He walked her to the door, kissed her softly and reminded her that everything was going to be fine and to stop expecting the worst.

 

Finally, after nearly a minute, Molly rang the bell. It was early afternoon on Saturday, and she knew Mary wasn’t teaching because it was the weekend, and John typically worked only until noon at St. Elizabeth’s, so she was hoping that she caught them both.

 

She waited only a handful of seconds before the door was pulled open. John’s eyes widened in surprise and he gasped, “Oh. Hi.” He smiled tentatively at her. “Hello, Molly.”

 

“Is it a bad time?” Her voice was trembling and she could already feel tears burning her eyes.

 

“Uhh, no actually. Jonathan’s just fallen asleep. Mary’s cleaning up our lunch dishes—come in!” he added, realizing Molly was still standing outside in the miserably cold London air. He opened the door wider, and Molly stepped in, quietly murmuring a thanks before stepping to the side. She pulled off her gloves, removed her coat and scarf and hung them up. Then she turned to John.

 

“How are you?”

 

Molly chose not to answer, instead wrapping her arms tightly around the man who had quickly turned into an older brother of sorts for her over the years. He returned her hug fiercely, and Molly had to fight to keep her tears at bay. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Shh,” John cooed softly, his arms tightening around her. “All is forgiven, everything is fine. Don’t worry.” They stayed that way, John holding Molly tightly, for nearly a minute. Then he pulled away, only to pick up her hands and squeeze them tightly. “Mary would love to see you.”

 

Molly nodded her head and followed John wordlessly to the living room.

 

“John, who was that? If I would have known it would take you ages to answer the door, I would have—” Mary stepped out of the kitchen, clad in black leggings and a white singlet top. She froze midsentence when she realized it was Molly in the room with her husband.

 

Molly’s hand snapped to her mouth and the tears that she had been holding back spilled over. Mary had a plump extension of her stomach, as if she placed a basketball beneath her top. And Molly realized she hadn’t seen Mary since December, since her stomach was flat. She couldn’t even remember how far along her friend was. She slowly closed the distance between them, but it was Mary who pulled Molly closer, wrapped her arms tightly around her, and whispered,

 

“Oh Molly, Molly, Molly.”

 

Molly returned the hug, unable to form a coherent sentence. The two women clung to each other tightly for several long minutes, crying softly.

 

\-----

 

Molly could hear John fixing tea in the kitchen as Mary slowly pulled away from her and lead her to the couch. There they each dabbed their eyes and blew their noses with tissue that John procured before going into the kitchen. When they were each a bit more stable, Molly grabbed Mary’s hand and squeezed it. “Tell me everything. How are you? How far along are you? How’s Jonathan? I haven’t seen him in ages! Oh God! I’m so sorry Mary. I wish I could take back the past few months but…” she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders. Mary just squeezed her hand back.

 

“Don’t apologize sweetheart. I can’t imagine how awful this whole thing has been for you, and I don’t blame you for one second of it.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

They were quiet for a moment, and then Mary sighed. “As you can see, I’m getting bigger. Twenty three weeks tomorrow. This pregnancy is loads easier than the last one. Morning sickness only for a few weeks, and it’s been a breeze since. Normal aches and pains, normal fetus. Everything’s fine, by the way.”

 

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

 

“We are currently baking another XY chromosome bun in this oven,” she said with a giggle. John groaned from the kitchen,

 

“Mary!” Molly looked at John and he was smiling slightly as Mary continued to giggle. “She heard that in this awful film on the telly. She’s been waiting weeks to say that to someone.”

 

“Oh.” Molly laughed and then turned her attention back to Mary. “Is Jonathan excited to have a baby brother, then?”

 

Mary nodded her head enthusiastically. “He asks a million questions a day. I don’t know how he can keep thinking up new ones. And he’ll probably wake in an hour, if you don’t have plans for this afternoon? He would absolutely be crushed if he missed your visit.”

 

“I can stay.”

 

Mary turned her head. “You should text Sherlock, John, and see if he wants to bring takeaway. I don’t want Molly out of my sight for the rest of the day!” She turned back to Molly, and her eyes swept over her. “If that’s alright, of course.”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Mary shifted around on the couch until she was comfortable, her legs folded beneath her, and then she smiled at Molly. “Please tell me about your vacation in New Zealand. I’ve been trapped in the monotony of school and home, so everything and anything sounds like an adventure. What did you eat?”

 

John was relieved to hear talking and laughing from the living room. He was pleased to see his wife ecstatic about the reappearance of one of her closest friends and he was more than excited to see Molly looking happy and healthy.

 

\-----

 

“I’m not easily embarrassed, yet I was very uncomfortable today.”

 

Sherlock was lying on the couch with his head gingerly in Molly’s lap. Her hands were in his hair, stroking his scalp. “He asked us a lot of questions about our sex lives. I think it’s normal for us to be uncomfortable in that situation.”

 

Sherlock was quiet a moment, and then opened one eye to look at Molly. “I never respected how important privacy is until now. We won’t have to answer those questions ever again, will we?” His cheeks were stained pink and Molly couldn’t help but laugh, leaning down and kissing his forehead.

 

“No, we won’t have to answer those questions again. But be prepared, at our next appointment you have to give a semen sample.” Sherlock scrunched up his nose, but otherwise stayed quiet. Molly shifted her weight and then leaned down so she could observe Sherlock’s features. “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

 

This time Sherlock opened both eyes and he reached up, cupping Molly’s cheek. “I know.” She turned her head and kissed his palm, then cradled it against her face. “But if this doesn’t work out, we can always adopt.”

 

Molly nodded her head and closed her eyes. “I know.”

 

They sat in a companionable silence for a few minutes, and then Sherlock sat up slowly. “We should go to bed. Your first day back to Bart’s is tomorrow, and John and I are going to _bond_ over cold case files at New Scotland Yard in the morning.”

 

Molly followed Sherlock to their bedroom. “Bond?”

 

“Mary said we haven’t seen each other much lately since John has taken to working three days a week at the Hospital of St. John and St. Elizabeth’s, so she asked Lestrade to prepare a day for us.” Even though his voice was deadpan, Molly knew Sherlock was eager to spend the day with his best friend.

 

\-----

 

The month of March flew by for Molly and Sherlock, as they worked, went to numerous doctor’s appointments to be poked and prodded, visited John and Mary, and researched (Molly for an academic paper she was writing and Sherlock working on an experiment involving cat food, a left human leg, and several species of beetles; Molly chose not to ask). Before they knew it, it was almost the end of April and Molly was heading to her first appointment without Sherlock. They were going to discuss her results from their latest testing and Molly wanted Sherlock to be there, but a case involving a kidnapped child demanded his attention.

 

“Good morning Doctor Holmes. Please have a seat.”

 

Molly smiled pleasantly at her doctor and sat across from him, placing her bag in her lap. “Good morning.”

 

The first part of their appointment was just discussion over the latest test results, which informed Molly that Sherlock’s sperm was viable and her uterus and cervix were in good working order. Molly diligently took notes because she knew Sherlock would want to know as much information as possible.

 

Then they began discussing the next round of testing.

 

“It’s called a hysterosalpinogram, or HSG for short. And basically it’s an x-ray procedure where I’ll check and see if you have any blockage in the fallopian tubes.”

 

Molly nodded her head in understanding. “When I was in medical school but before I declared my concentration in pathology, I was a quasi-assistant for a radiographer. I’ve seen the procedure done twice now.”

 

Her doctor responded with, “Good. You know the risks then?”

 

“I do.”

 

“We’ll schedule your HSG test then. I do all of my x-ray work at the hospital of St. John and St. Elizabeth. Now in order to properly do this procedure, it needs to be after your menstruation cycle but before you ovulate, and according to previous tests and your history, a good time as any would be this Saturday.”

 

They spent the rest of the appointment discussing the risks, benefits, possible reactions, and all other concerns Molly had. When all of her questions were answered, Molly left the office with the appointment card clutched in her hand. She only had an hour before she had to return to St. Bart’s to resume her shift which gave her enough time to call Sherlock and eat lunch.

 

\-----

 

Molly tried not to pace around Sherlock as he conducted his own personal research on the risks of her hysterosalpinogram while also on the phone with John, interrogating him for any and all knowledge on fallopian tubes, x-rays, and the cleanliness at the hospital where he worked. It was the night before the procedure, and he had only returned home from his case with the kidnapped child a few hours ago.

 

After what felt like years but could only have been an hour or two, Sherlock closed his laptop, said goodnight to John, and placed his phone on top of the computer.

 

“You want to have this done?” he asked. Molly nodded her head. “The benefits definitely outweigh the risks. I see no harm in you having the procedure done.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

Molly’s legs were trembling as she made her way to Sherlock, who was sitting in his chair, and plopped down in his lap. He immediately wrapped his arms around her and allowed her to burrow her face into his neck. They had already discussed her appointment in depth, twice (once on the phone immediately after the appointment and then when he returned home from his case), and Molly just had to wait for him to be satisfied with his knowledge on the subject. “This could be it, Sherlock.”

 

He squeezed her tightly. “I know.”

 

The next morning, Molly woke up early to shower and eat a light breakfast before taking an over the counter pain reliever after her doctor suggested that it might help with the cramping and discomfort after the procedure. She left Sherlock to sleep a little bit longer because he was at his usual post case exhaustion. When she was ready for her appointment a whole hour before they had to leave, she woke Sherlock up.

 

He moved sluggishly around the flat as he drank coffee to wake himself up. Molly knew that he would more than likely go right back to sleep when they returned because six hours of sleep after not sleeping for four days wasn’t enough to function. Molly watched him as he picked at the toast she made him and then he took a shower, appearing a little more awake in his suit for the day.

 

“I’ve called a cab already. It should be here any moment.”

 

“What time is the appointment?” Sherlock asked, slipping on his coat and scarf. He took Molly’s hand once he was situated and walked down the stairs.  She followed behind him.

 

“It’s at ten, but I was told to arrive thirty minutes early to check-in.”

 

\-----

 

Sherlock hated waiting.

 

He especially hated waiting at hospitals.

 

He despised waiting alone.

 

But he sat stiffly in the waiting room, clutching Molly’s purse to his chest and staring resolutely at the doors she disappeared behind fifteen minutes beforehand. Because of the radiation being used, he was asked to wait for her.

 

If he would have known he wasn’t allowed to be with her, he would have brought something to do to keep his mind occupied and not jump from one worst case scenario to the next.

 

“Hey, I’ve brought tea.” Sherlock tore his eyes away from the doors to see John standing beside him, offering a cup of tea. “This stuff isn’t much better than Bart’s, but it’s tea.”

 

Sherlock took the tea and glanced in the cup before looking back at John. John settled himself in the chair beside him and crossed his legs, sipping at his tea. “What are you doing?”

 

“Slow day. I told the nurses that I had a friend having work done today, and they said they’ll call me if I’m needed.”

 

Sherlock took a sip of his tea and grunted in disgust. “I’ve drank tepid bath water better than this.”

 

“Well that’s disgusting,” John commented, stifling a laugh with his hand. He glanced at Sherlock from the corner of his eye. “Was Molly alright this morning?”

 

“She was nervous.” Sherlock stared into his cup. “This is one of the last tests out there for us. If it comes up with nothing, we’ve decided that we’ll stop trying. I’ve done a bit of research on local adoption agencies...” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, ignoring the ache in his chest. “It shouldn’t be so hard to start a family. People who don’t deserve to be parents give birth every minute, yet Molly and I…” he trailed off and ran a hand through his hair.

 

“I wish I knew what to tell you. Sometimes, things just really suck.”

 

Sherlock couldn’t help but snort. He sat up a little straighter and crossed his legs. He and John sat in a companionable silence for the next twenty minutes, Sherlock relieved that he wasn’t waiting alone anymore.

 

It was only when Sherlock began to lose his patience that the double doors across from him opened and revealed the technician who had taken Molly. “Mr. Holmes, your wife has asked for your presence before she and the doctor go over her results. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you right to her.”

 

Try as he might, Sherlock couldn’t deduce whether or not the results were good from this young woman. He stood up and handed John his still mostly full cup. John stood up too and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Good luck. Call me later if you’re able, okay?”

 

With a nod of his head, Sherlock strode forward, squaring his shoulders and bracing himself for what was to come next.

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

Sherlock followed the technician as she led him to a small office. Another technician and Molly’s doctor were using a computer and Molly was sitting in one of the three chairs that surrounded the desk. He stepped into the office, and Molly looked up, smiling a small smile. She was pale and a little sweaty, but otherwise, she looked as she did when they arrived at the hospital.

 

“Can I have my purse? I’ve got to use the loo.”

 

Sherlock nodded his head wordlessly and his eyes followed Molly as she stood up and left the room. He could see her knees were trembling.

 

He chose to stare at his hands after greeting the doctor and technician, not wanting to deduce the results before Molly. It was odd that he was spending much of his time not deducing for Molly’s benefit.

 

Molly returned from the bathroom and moved her chair so it was right beside Sherlock’s. She sat down gingerly in her seat, placed her bag on the floor and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly. Her hand was cold and clammy, and Sherlock was sure she was paler than she was when he first saw her.

 

After another minute of almost silence, the technician excused himself from the room and it was just Sherlock, Molly, and their doctor. “Normally I would just give the results while the test is going, but I assumed that Mr. Holmes would want to hear this first hand.”

 

“Yes, thank you.”

 

Sherlock shifted in his seat and leaned forward. The doctor turned around a computer screen so they could see a recording of Molly’s HSG procedure. “The procedure went fine. You’ll have a bit of cramping and discomfort for a day or two, and possibly spotting that you shouldn’t be worried.” He pressed play and Sherlock and Molly could see the dye flowing through Molly’s body. “As you can see here,” her doctor said, talking over the recording, “the dye flowed through the uterus and into the fallopian tubes as normal, but then here, in both tubes, the flow stops.”

 

The doctor paused the video to look at Molly and Sherlock. “What that means is that both of your fallopian tubes were blocked. This is the reason why you have had trouble conceiving. The sperm has been unable to fertilize your eggs.”

 

“Okay, what can we do to fix this?” Molly asked, her voice trembling. “I know there are procedures that can unblock tubes and leave minimal scarring.”

 

“What do you mean her tubes _were_ blocked?” Sherlock added.

 

“This is where you hear the good news,” her doctor said, unpausing the video. “After a few seconds, the dye moves freely through your fallopian tubes and empties out into your belly, as expected. More than likely what was blocking both of your fallopian tubes was mucus. The HSG pushed it out of the way.”

 

Molly let out a short laugh, her eyes wide. “What?” she gasped.

 

Sherlock’s eyes snapped to her. She looked like she was going to faint. “Molly,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. “Breathe.”

 

The doctor smiled at Sherlock and Molly. “We will do a follow up HSG in six months to ensure there aren’t any more blockages, but as of right now, you should be able to conceive naturally. All of your test results have come back with no abnormalities, and both you and Sherlock are healthy individuals. If you continue to eat healthy, stay active, and avoid copious amounts of drugs and alcohol, you should be able to conceive a child within a year. Probably less.”

 

“R-really?” Molly bit her lip and tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill out of her eyes.

 

“Yes.”

 

“When can we start having sexual intercourse again?” Sherlock asked eagerly. His question threw Molly off, and she laughed, the tears finally spilling out of her eyes. She grasped Sherlock’s hand in both of hers, holding on for dear life.

 

The doctor smiled too. “I would personally suggest waiting a day or two until Molly is feeling her best, but I’ve had patients resume normal sexual activities the same day as the HSG.”

 

Sherlock looked at Molly, and she shook her head, wiping at her eyes. “Absolutely not today! I feel like rubbish.” Evidently any embarrassment about talking about their sex lives in front of the doctor had left Sherlock. She squeezed his hand again.

 

“And the procedure will have no effect on Molly or her eggs?” Sherlock asked, tearing his eyes away from his wife.

 

“The amount of radiation in the procedure is so minimal that it will not have an effect of Molly or her eggs. It is absorbed naturally through the body. But if she starts suffering from side effects we discussed earlier today, call me immediately.”

 

Sherlock nodded his head. With no more questions, Molly and Sherlock excused themselves from the small office.

 

Once they stepped into the main hallway of the hospital, Molly stopped. Her entire body was trembling and Sherlock could see that she was having a difficult time standing. “I—I need a mo—moment.”

 

“Let’s go to John’s office,” Sherlock said, leading her to the aforementioned doctor’s office.

 

\-----

 

“I’ve made soup dearie, and bread. And I’ve got your favorite biscuits in the oven. Your kitty has been keeping me company all day, following me about as I straightened up your flat. It was only this once by the way Molly; I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper.”

 

Molly couldn’t help but embrace Mrs. Hudson, who was standing in the middle of her flat, wearing an apron covered in flour. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson.”

 

The older woman hugged Molly tightly. “Your appointment went fine then?”

 

“More than fine,” Molly said, pulling away from Mrs. Hudson.

 

“And where is Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson took Molly gently by the arm and led her into the kitchen. Molly sat down in a chair, and Mrs. Hudson placed a steaming bowl of soup and fresh bread in front of her.

 

“He went to the pharmacy for me. I needed a few things and didn’t feel up to going myself.”

 

“That boy,” Mrs. Hudson murmured, patting Molly on the hand. “I remember he and John getting in huge arguments—well, it was mostly John doing the yelling—about milk! Sherlock would never buy milk even though he was the one who used it all. And look how far he’s come. He’s purchasing your lady products, and I bet he didn’t even argue!”

 

Molly smiled brightly at Mrs. Hudson; she too remembered the days when Sherlock would complain to her about how John would complain about the milk. That felt like decades ago, rather than just a few years.

 

Sherlock joined Molly for lunch thirty minutes later after placing her purchase in the bathroom. As they were eating, Sherlock inquired about how she was feeling, offered her paracetamol, and with Mrs. Hudson still tidying up their kitchen, they retired to their bedroom to sleep.

 

\-----

 

“Another negative pregnancy test?”

 

Molly bit her lip and nodded her head, sliding her hands into her back pockets. She looked towards the ceiling, hoping the tilt of her head would stop the production of tears. She sighed shakily when she felt Sherlock wrap his arms around her. She pressed her face against his chest and he held her for a few moments.

 

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” Molly whispered, pulling away from him. She wiped at her eyes as she said, “It’s the beginning of July, which means it’s been almost four months since the HSG, and it’s been over two years of trying, and I don’t think I can deal with another negative pregnancy test again.”

 

“Okay,” Sherlock said softly, kissing her forehead. “We can stop.”

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s not your fault. Stop apologizing,” Sherlock said firmly, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “Sometimes biology dictates whether or not something like this should happen. We tried our best, Doctor Molly Hooper Holmes, and we shouldn’t punish ourselves anymore.” Even as he spoke, Molly could see tears shining in his eyes. She nodded her head and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

 

After their emotional Sunday morning, Molly tried to keep herself busy, fluttering about the flat to clean, reading, and even assisting Sherlock with his experiment in the kitchen. She knew her husband wasn’t one hundred percent sure how to handle what had transpired that morning, but she appreciated his soft kisses and gentle hands on her back or shoulder as he moved around her.

 

They could do this. Everything would be fine.

 

\-----

 

“SHERLOCK! MARY’S GONE INTO LABOR!”

 

Instead of meeting their closest friends at the hospital to see the birth of their second child, Sherlock and Molly offered to watch Jonathan the few days Mary and John would be in the hospital and the first night with the new baby at the flat. They had been waiting for this day for nearly two weeks, but baby Watson decided that he was going to be born close to August instead of mid-July.

 

Sherlock came stumbling out of the bedroom in his pajamas, wide eyed and a huge grin on his face. “Is everything ready?”

 

“The cot is set up in our bedroom, the cupboards are full of his favorite snacks, we have a bag here already with clothes, games, toys, books, and his favorite films, and I purchased a nightlight two weeks ago.” Molly said, grinning broadly. “John said they should be here in about thirty minutes.”

 

“Well, you better finish your shower.”

 

Molly glanced down at herself, having forgotten that she was in the shower when she received the phone call from John. “That would be a good idea.” Sherlock ducked down and kissed Molly lightly.

 

“I can’t believe he is already here!” Molly said, laughing to herself before closing the door behind her.

 

Sherlock paused outside the bathroom for a moment, breathing a sigh of relief. He had been worried not only about himself, but about Molly and her reaction to the birth of the new baby Watson. But so far, he hadn’t noticed any frustration or depression evident in her features. And it could possibly be because they had both decided to look into adoption, and made plans to visit a local agency to meet with someone in a week.

 

Their new plans were coming to fruition much more smoothly and tear free. It was a huge relief.

 

Sherlock shook his head and pivoted on his heels, returning to his bedroom to change out of his pajamas. Spending a great deal of time with a toddler required an outfit conducive to running around and possibly getting dirty, which meant jeans and a t-shirt instead of a suit.

 

Once he was dressed, Sherlock went into the kitchen and began making coffee. Molly had to work that morning, so he was on his own with Jonathan for most of the day. Even though he’d been averaging six and a half hours of sleep a night in preparation of babysitting for several days, he was still tired.

 

Coffee made and drank, he went downstairs and knocked on Mrs. Hudson’s door. He wasn’t surprised when she answered it; his landlady was always up at ungodly hours. Her eyes swept up and down Sherlock once and then she clapped her hands excitedly. “Is it time! I knew it was going to happen any day now. I’ve got some banana bread, I’ll slice it up and put in a container for them to eat throughout the day.”

 

“Do you still have that lemon jam?”

 

“Of course. I’ve always had it on hand once I figured out Mary liked it so much. I also have leftover vegetable broth from when I made soup two days ago. I’ll pack that away for them too. Now run along upstairs and get your flat ready. That little boy of theirs will be upset that he was woken up so early.”

 

Sherlock followed Mrs. Hudson’s advice, running back upstairs and standing in the middle of the flat. The first thing he did was turn on the lights, then he moved to the television and sorted through the films that Jonathan liked and selected one that he would enjoy but possibly fall asleep to. Then he went into the kitchen and drank another cup of coffee.

 

By the time John and Jonathan arrived, it was nearing seven o’clock. John had let himself into the flat and was carrying a sleeping Jonathan up the stairs. “It was easier to keep him in his pajamas than change him. And he doesn’t know what’s going on, but Mary really needs to go to the hospital. Her contractions are already ten minutes apart.”

 

“It’s alright. I’ll explain it when he’s more awake.” Sherlock took Jonathan and carefully cradled him against his chest, not wanting to wake the sleeping toddler. Then he smiled at his best friend. “Good luck,” he said, squeezing his shoulder.

 

Just then, Molly came bounding out of the bathroom, dressed in her work attire. “Good I didn’t miss you!” She hugged John tightly. “Send Mary our love! And good luck to the both of you!”

 

“Thank you!” John exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. “I’m having a baby today!” He laughed and turned to run down the stairs. Both Molly and Sherlock peered down to see Mrs. Hudson waiting at her door with a lunch bag for John. They hugged and exchanged kisses on the cheek, and then John was gone.

 

When all was quiet in Baker Street, Molly and Sherlock exchanged small smiles. “You can put him in our bed. And get some rest yourself. I can imagine he’ll be really fussy when he wakes up not in his own bed.” Molly stood on her tip toes and kissed his cheek.

 

“Remember, I have a meeting today so I have to leave now to get to work on time. Call me if you hear anything about Mary or if anything happens here. I will try to be home by 17:00!”

 

\-----

 

Sherlock was mildly surprised when John Watson called him a little after 15:00. “How are things?” Sherlock whispered, carefully getting up from the couch and walking to the kitchen. Jonathan was napping and Sherlock didn’t want to wake him.

 

“Everything’s going smoothly. Her obstetrician said she’ll be pushing within the hour.”

 

“Really?” Sherlock asked, vividly remembering the thirty seven hours Mary had been in labor with Jonathan.

 

“Yeah. They say it gets easier after the first baby.”

 

“Sherlock! I’m thirsty!”

 

Sherlock looked down to see Jonathan standing in front of him. “Juice?” Sherlock offered, cradling the phone between his chin and shoulder.

 

“Is that Jonathan? Can I speak to him?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Sherlock handed the phone to Jonathan and half listened as the toddler talked to his father. He moved about the kitchen, first getting the apple juice from the fridge and then searching for the small sippy cup that Jonathan used for lunch.

 

Sherlock and Jonathan exchanged belongings, and Sherlock saw that the phone call had ended with Jon. He slid his phone into his pocket and then picked up Jonathan. “So what did your father have to say?”

 

“That he and mummy love me. And that everything was fine.” He took a big sip of his juice and then smiled. “Then he said that it was time for the baby to come, so he had to go. I’m going to be a big brother today!”

 

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile at Jonathan’s enthusiasm. “That’s right. You’re going to be the best big brother.”

 

\-----

 

It was nearing 19:00 when Sherlock and Jonathan made their way to the maternity ward of the Hospital of St. John and St. Elizabeth. Jonathan could hardly control himself, and Sherlock had to have a tight hold on the toddler’s hand in order to keep him from running ahead.

 

“Daddy!” Jonathan squealed, when he saw his father in the hallway on the phone. John quickly ended his phone call and met Sherlock and Jonathan, gathering his son in his arms and squeezing him tightly.

 

“Do you want to meet your brother?” John asked, placing Jonathan on his hip.

 

“Of course!”

 

Sherlock and John exchanged grins and walked into the private room. Mary smiled tiredly at the group who entered, and John carefully placed Jonathan on the bed. “Be careful of Mummy. She’s very sore and tired,” John warned. The little boy heeded his advice and carefully crawled up the bed until he was in his mother’s free arm. Sherlock leaned over the bed and kissed Mary on the cheek before looking at the new baby Watson.

 

“He’s going to grow up and look just like John. Spitting image,” Sherlock said, gently stroking the small tuft of soft blond hair on the baby’s head. “He’s beautiful,” he added, before moving away from the bed.

 

“Thank you,” Mary murmured.

 

Sherlock watched the family bond fondly, his heart aching for the chance to experience this first hand, but he tried to keep the emotion at bay. There would be a more appropriate time later on where he could sort through his feelings.

 

When John indicated that he wanted to get some tea, Sherlock followed him out of the room. When they were a safe distance away from Mary, John stopped in the middle of the hallway. “Is Molly alright?”

 

Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Yes. Why?”

 

“I thought she would be with you when you brought Jonathan in. I know this is hard, and I can’t—”

 

“She’s still at work,” Sherlock said, putting a hand on John’s shoulder. “She might come in if she gets off before visiting hours are over, but everything is fine. She had a priority autopsy right at the end of her shift.”

 

John exhaled loudly and nodded his head. “Okay. But so you know, you don’t have to—”

 

“John Watson,” Sherlock growled, annoyed. “You are my best friend. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

 

It wasn’t often that Sherlock declared the importance of his friendship with John, so it always came as a shock when he did. The exhausted former army doctor smiled, but Sherlock could see his lips trembling. He lowered his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Ignore me. I’ve just had a baby and haven’t slept in ages.”

 

The two men stood in the hallway for a few minutes as John collected himself, and then they continued on their journey for decent tea. “I’ve got this new electric kettle in my office. Mrs. Hudson packed some tea in that little bag. Do you think we can get away with brewing it in Mary’s room?”

 

“John, you’re the doctor employed here. Is it against regulation to brew tea in a hospital room?”

 

The two men were making their way to John’s office in the A&E when they were stopped by an older nurse. She smiled brightly at John. “Congratulations Doctor Watson!”

 

“Thank you!” he said with a grin. “It’s a boy, in case you didn’t know.”

 

“Everyone in the hospital knows!” she said with a laugh. Then she turned her eyes to Sherlock and her smile dimmed down. “And I assume you’re here to see your wife? I expected you to be a bit more frantic than this, to be honest,” she said frankly.

 

Sherlock frowned. “My wife?” He felt a cold chill sweep through his body and his pulse quickened. “She’s a patient?”

 

“Yes, she was brought in about an hour ago by ambulance. You didn’t know?” Now she looked guilty. “I figured the staff recognized her right away and called you.”

 

\-----

 

Sherlock felt sick to his stomach as he was led to Molly’s room in the A&E. John was following him, talking softly to Mary on his mobile. “I’m going to get her chart. Be right back.” John left his side and Sherlock could feel ringing in his ears as they finally stopped at her room. Sherlock stepped inside without a word and went straight to Molly’s bedside.

 

She was pale and a thin sheen of sweat covered her forehead. Her eyes were closed and they fluttered open when Sherlock held her hands. “Molly?”

 

“Hi.”

 

“What happened?” he demanded softly.

 

Molly shrugged her shoulders. “One minute I was finishing up an autopsy and the next minute, I was in an ambulance.”

 

“Do you feel ill?”

 

“I have a bit of a headache and I’m starving, but otherwise I feel alright. They drew blood and took a urine sample a few minutes before you got here. I imagine I might be a little dehydrated. I hope they don’t give me an IV.” She rolled her head to the side and looked at Sherlock. “Did Mike call you and tell you where I was?”

 

Sherlock shook his head. “I was here to see Mary and the new baby. John and I were just going to his office to get his new electric kettle so we could have tea. A nurse ran into us, and that’s how I found out.”

 

“No one called? Odd.” Molly closed her eyes, and Sherlock took the opportunity to check his phone. He was surprised to see that he had four missed calls, two from Mike Stamford, one from a number within St. Bart’s, and one that he assumed was this hospital.

 

“My sound was off on my phone. I didn’t want to bother Mary.”

 

“How is she?”

 

“Well. And the baby is beautiful.”

 

“And the name? I know it was still up in the air when I talked to Mary just yesterday.”

 

“Nathaniel Arthur Watson. Named after Mary’s father and grandfather.”

 

“Such a beautiful name.”

 

Molly’s head shifted and Sherlock could see her chest moving shallowly. “Are you falling asleep or passing out?” His fingers fluttered against her wrist as he checked her pulse. It wasn’t racing, but it was a little slower than her normal resting rate.

 

“Falling ‘sleep. So tired…”

 

“Stay awake, for me. At least until John gets here.” Sherlock changed the angle of her bed so she was sitting up more, and Molly sighed tiredly but shifted around. She rubbed at her eyes and yawned. “Do you think I can see baby Nathaniel before I leave? I don’t think I’ll be kept overnight but I’ll definitely miss visiting hours.”

 

“John works here. I’m sure he will be able to get you to the maternity ward without a problem.”

 

Sherlock kept a tight hold on Molly’s hand as they slipped into a companionable silence. A few minutes passed by, and then there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Sherlock called, turning towards the door. John stepped in, brandishing a medical file.

 

“Sorry, had to wait for the results on your urine sample. Evidently, they thought you were drugged or accidentally pricked yourself with some kind of poison. Your blood test should be completed by morning.” John sat down on a rolling stool and opened the file on his lap. “Haven’t had a chance to really look through it, but you weren’t poisoned or drugged…” He trailed off as he shifted through some papers. Sherlock watched John impatiently and Molly yawned and rubbed at her eyes.

 

“Oh!”

 

“ _Oh_? Oh what?” John quickly looked through the papers again. “John?!” Sherlock demanded, halfway out of his seat. Molly was more alert now as she saw John’s eyes widen. Then a wide grin took over his features.

 

“This is good! This is very good. Ha ha!” He closed the folder but kept it on his lap. “They found hCG, which is the human chorionic gonadotropin hormone, in your urine sample.” With a bit of a tremor in his voice, he announced, “You’re pregnant!”

 


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story! :) I have spent quite a bit of time on it over the past four days, and it has become my baby.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

Eight weeks pregnant.

 

She was due March the 6th.

 

No complications.

 

No health concerns.

 

No indications that hers pregnancy was at risk.

 

But the morning sickness started the morning after she found out she was pregnant.

 

But as Sherlock knelt over Molly, rubbing her back and consoling not only her but a worried Jonathan who stood in the doorway to the lavatory, he knew Molly was taking this in stride. After all, Molly was a firm believer that she was blessed to be pregnant at all, and complaining would just make her feel and seem ungrateful.

                                                                                        

“Should you stay home from work today?” Sherlock asked, helping her to her feet. Molly shook her head and leaned against the sink as she filled a cup from the tap.

 

“I’ve missed quite a bit of work lately, even though I still have weeks of vacation time left. I’d rather just struggle through it.” Once she gargled and rinsed her mouth out, she smiled weakly at her husband and Jonathan. “Everything will be alright.”

 

“I hope you feel better, Molly.” Jonathan said, wrapping his arms around her legs. “I don’t like it when you’re sick.”

 

\-----

 

Ten weeks pregnant, and Molly had her first craving.

 

It was 2:30 in the morning, Sherlock was playing his violin to help think, and Molly was standing barefoot and only wearing her knickers and bra, frying bacon. Soon she was cracking eggs to eat with her bacon, and then she found cheese that was still good in the fridge.

 

 _An all-star breakfast at almost three in the morning?_ Molly didn’t mind. She had an evening shift at St. Bart’s that day, so she could do whatever she wanted until she went to work.

 

As the weeks passed, Sherlock took note of the things Molly was craving and did a bit of research. When she was craving bacon, he learned that her body just needed extra protein. He encouraged her to eat almonds, which was a healthier option.

 

She didn’t mind almonds.

 

Apples were her next craving. These were healthy, but Molly knew that if she ate too many, her blood sugar would sky rocket. So she allowed herself an apple or two at a time, but no more than four in one day. She was in control of her cravings.

 

Until she wasn’t.

 

It was another early morning, and all Molly could think about were onions. She rolled over in bed and poked Sherlock in the side. “I’m so sorry Sherlock, but we need onions.”

 

\-----

 

At sixteen weeks pregnant, Molly no longer had a flat belly.

 

She was sitting on the couch, her feet propped up on the table in front of her. She had her shirt rolled up to right beneath her bra, and she was running her hand over her small bump. Her thoughts were flooded with many different things ranging from getting the bedroom upstairs ready for the baby to what she was going to make for dinner that night. Eventually she decided on Chinese takeaway. If Sherlock finished his case that night, she knew he would be hungry so she ordered extra.

 

Molly jumped when she heard the door downstairs slam, and she didn’t have enough time to roll down her shirt before Sherlock and Detective Inspector Lestrade burst into the flat. “Will you look at this?” Lestrade said, grinning broadly and crossing the room. He plopped down beside Molly. “It’s doing alright in there? Can you feel anything yet?”

 

“Not really. And it’s fine. We’ll find out if it’s a boy or girl next week!”

 

“Do you have a nickname for it?”

 

“We call it our Consulting Pathologist. It was Sherlock’s idea, since it’s a bit of both of us.”

 

Her cheeks were pink, but she was smiling brightly. Lestrade leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’m glad everything is going well. I wish the same could be said about this bloody case. It was supposed to be a four on his scale, but it jumped to an eight pretty quickly.”

 

“MOLLY, HAVE YOU SEEN—never mind! Lestrade, let’s go. I’ll be back late. Please don’t wait up.” Sherlock managed to remember to kiss Molly before he dashed out of the flat.

 

\-----

 

“We’re seventeen weeks pregnant with a little girl.”

 

Molly looked away from her book and stared at her husband. He was lying beside her on the bed, staring wide eyed at her abdomen. “We are,” Molly murmured, marking her page and discarding her book in favor of cuddling beside her husband. Mary warned her that as she got bigger, cuddling would become a nuisance rather than a pleasure.

 

“When can I tell everyone?”

 

Molly laughed and kissed him lightly. “I wanted to do something special.”

 

Sherlock huffed. “I don’t want to have one of those gender reveal parties like John and Mary did for Jonathan. I hate parties.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be a party. But something cute would be sufficient.”

 

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, and Molly nuzzled against his chest. “We could send everyone a picture of—”

 

“If your sentence ends with the word _‘vagina’_ I will throw you out of this flat,” Molly warned, and she heard him chuckle.

 

In the end, Molly and Sherlock purchased hundreds of pink peanut M&M candies online. The two of them spent one entire Sunday afternoon taking a few handfuls of sweets, putting them in their individual cellophane wrappers, and tying them off with a pink bow. Molly made little cards, and each one said,

 

_“Our darling Consulting_

_Pathologist is a girl!_

_Thank you for all your_

_support and encouragement!_

_Love,_

_Sherlock and Molly xx”_

 

Even though he tried to hide it, Sherlock enjoyed traveling around with Molly later that evening after supper and delivering the sweets. The reactions from their friends was something Sherlock knew he would never delete, from Mrs. Hudson’s happy tears to Mary’s squeals of delight, to John’s firm hug and Lestrade’s energetic cursing to any bloke who would lay a finger on his “sweetheart”.

 

When they were home and cuddling in bed, Molly murmured, “It’s nice to know that she’ll always have a Consulting Detective, a blogger, a Detective Inspector, and the British Government protecting her.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me of Mycroft, Molly. You’re killing the mood.”

 

Molly pulled away from him with her brow furrowed. He just waggled his eyebrows at her in response, and she giggled, her laughter only silenced after he kissed her.

 

\-----

 

The first time Molly felt the baby kick, a true kick and not the butterfly like feelings she’d been feeling for weeks, she was twenty two weeks pregnant and in a room full of students who were observing her as she completed an autopsy. Mike Stamford was in the room with her, and between the two of them, they were answering questions and posing questions of their own.

 

Molly was in the middle of describing the reason why the man’s stomach was twice as large as it was supposed to be when the Consulting Pathologist gave a hard kick or punch to Molly’s insides. She gasped and dropped her scalpel on the floor.

 

“Are you alright Doctor Holmes?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, fine!” she squeaked, her eyes as round as saucers. After taking a few deep breaths, she said, “I just felt my baby kick for the first time.”

 

As soon as the students were gone and they were all washed up, Molly and Mike shared a brief hug. Then Molly excused herself to her office, called Sherlock, and promptly began to cry. “It’s real!” she sobbed into the phone, one hand rubbing her stomach. “This isn’t some bizarre dream. She’s really in there, Sherlock!”

 

The first time Sherlock felt the baby kick, Molly was twenty four weeks pregnant and he was in his Mind Palace, clearing out a room and setting it up for his Consulting Pathologist. Molly was watching the news and running her fingers through his hair, and his head was nestled in her lap.

 

When he first felt the nudge against his cheek, he ignored it. It was a few moments later when he felt it again, and he shifted his head. The third time it happened, he snapped at Molly, “Will you please stop touching my face? I’m trying to think.”

 

“I’m not touching your face. My hands are in your hair!”

 

He scrambled onto his knees and stared at Molly’s stomach with wide eyes. It took him a second to realize his mouth was hanging open, and he promptly slammed his jaw shut. Then he looked at Molly, and she was grinning at him, as if she knew the baby had been kicking him the entire time.

 

Of course the first thing his child would do is kick him in the face.

 

\-----

 

“Everything is swollen. My ankles. My feet. My legs. My body. My brain. My bladder! I’m hot all the time and it’s two days before Christmas! If it was socially acceptable, I would be naked right now!”

 

It wasn’t until Molly was thirty weeks pregnant that she hinted at any discomfort during her pregnancy. Mary sat beside her, patting her leg apologetically while Mrs. Hudson sat across from her, nodding her head encouragingly. “Oh, I know sweetheart. But it gets better. Just think, in about ten weeks, this will all be over!”

 

Molly smiled and rubbed her stomach. “Thank you for listening. I know I shouldn’t complain—”

 

“I was worried you were trying to keep it all to yourself!” Mrs. Hudson said, cutting Molly off. “No woman in her right mind can go through a pregnancy without complaining every once in a while. That’s why I brought the chocolate! Complain until your heart’s content!” Mrs. Hudson indicated the sweets that were resting on Molly’s engorged tummy. The three women laughed, and for the first time in thirty weeks, Molly really let everyone know how she was physically feeling.

 

It was also two days before Christmas, as Sherlock and John were finishing the last minute purchases for their Christmas dinner, that Sherlock let John know that Molly was having mood swings, and even something subtle that he might not observe immediately set Molly off.

 

John laughed and said, “Welcome to the club of having a pregnant and slightly terrifying spouse. You can be Vice President.”

 

\-----

 

Thirty four weeks pregnant, and Doctor Molly Hooper Holmes was not taking shit from _anyone_.

 

“Come on Mycroft!”

 

“Doctor Hooper—”

 

“Holmes!” Sherlock corrected, not glancing up from his newspaper.

 

“Doctor Holmes, apologies. This is not my area—”

 

“Well make it your area!” Molly snapped.

 

Even Sherlock’s eyebrows lifted at Molly’s tone. He carefully lowered the paper and watched as his older brother crossed the living room and sat down in an empty seat across from him. Molly was sitting at the table, having already finished her breakfast. “She’s been active all morning, so you’ll be able to feel a kick or a punch easily.”

 

Without further ado, Molly grabbed the older Holmes’s hand and pressed it against her stomach. She moved it around slowly, and after a few seconds, the Consulting Pathologist gave a heaving kick, knocking the wind out of Molly and startling Mycroft. He snatched his hand away with wide eyes. “Does that hurt?”

 

“A little bit.”

 

Mycroft was quiet a moment, and then hesitantly placed his hand back on Molly’s stomach. Molly covered it with her own, and the Consulting Pathologist responded to the weight, this time with a little less force in her kick. “I remember the first time Mummy let me feel Sherlock kick.”

 

Molly wasn’t going to take shit from anyone, but that didn’t mean she was going to do it without sobbing, especially if her brother-in-law utters sentiment for the first time in her presence.

 

\-----

 

Finally, thirty six weeks along in her pregnancy, Molly was going on parental leave from St. Bart’s. She had spent the last two weeks training her replacement, informing him of her husband and his sometimes erratic behavior, and showing him around the hospital.

 

Her first day home from work, Molly kept herself busy; all of the baby’s bedding, clothing, and toys had been washed, dried, and carefully stored away. She had her bag and Sherlock’s bag packed and by the door. Sherlock and John had taken it upon themselves to paint John’s old bedroom yellow, with the door frame and windows painted white. Once the paint dried, her furniture was assembled and moved into the room.

 

Their precious Consulting Pathologist had a beautiful nursery.

 

But by the time the room was finished, Molly was only thirty six and a half weeks pregnant. She expected the set up and cleaning to take much longer, but it didn’t. So she took the time to catch up on reading, friends, and cuddling with Toby.

 

Thirty seven weeks pregnant, and she was _bored_.

 

Sherlock wasn’t even thirty seven weeks pregnant but began his self-proclaimed parental leave at the same time as Molly and he was _really bored._

 

“You don’t have to do this, Sherlock. The both of us being bored is detrimental to the structure of 221B Baker Street. Take a case.”

 

“You could go into labor at any second, Molly. I don’t want to be in France if you go into labor!”

 

“I said work a case, not go abroad!”

 

“Do you want to go on a date?” Sherlock suggested, after sitting in silence for nearly two hours.

 

“A date?” Molly asked skeptically.

 

“Yes, you remember what those are, correct? Get dressed up fancy. Go somewhere and eat. Maybe dance or see a late showing of a film at the cinema.”

 

“You hate cinemas. And I can’t see my feet. I’ll mutilate your toes.”

 

“I’ll suffer through anything for you, Molly.”

 

Once Molly finished crying at Sherlock’s admission, she decided that a night out for dinner, deductions, and possibly a walk would be good for her, since she knew she would be cooped up in the flat for a while after the baby was born.

 

Dinner at Angelo’s was pleasant, especially when Sherlock managed to get a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and as they ate, Sherlock murmured his deductions of the other patrons to her. They sat side by side in their booth, which was romantic in a sense, but also more logical since Molly needed quite a bit of extra room for her belly.

 

It was on their little walk home from Angelo’s that Molly felt her first strong contraction.

 

\-----

“Sherlock?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

The couple found that lying in bed was a common thing to do while they were bored. Especially in the evenings. They would retire early, Molly because she knew she would spend most of the night getting comfortable, and Sherlock because he didn’t want to leave her alone for long periods of time.

 

“Do you think we could have a bit of a party? As a last get together before she’s born?”

 

Sherlock sighed and reached for her hand. “I hate parties.”

 

“What about dinner? Mrs. Hudson can help me cook, and we’ll invite over John and Mary and the boys, Lestrade, Mycroft if he has the time, even Mike and his wife! It would be nice.”

 

Sherlock mulled over the idea in his head, and then he said, “I’ll text everyone in the morning.” He then shifted around until his head was pressed against Molly’s stomach, and he began talking to the baby. Molly smiled and closed her eyes, willing herself to get some sleep.

 

\-----

 

Thirty nine weeks pregnant, and Molly was exhausted. She was beginning to doubt the decision to have a little dinner with her friends as her pregnancy came to a close. She hadn’t done much that day, she and Sherlock went to an appointment bright and early that morning, where they were informed by their doctor that, “The baby will be here any day now! You’re two centimeters dilated. Just take it easy, and call me when your contractions are about five minutes apart and a minute long, or if the pain is intolerable.”

 

“Here Molly,” Sherlock whispered.

 

Molly opened her eyes, unaware that she began to doze. Sherlock was standing before her with an armload of pillows. “You’ve been having contractions for three days. Just relax, and I’ll handle the preparations for dinner.” After Sherlock helped Molly get situated on the couch, he began a light cleaning of the flat; it was nearly spotless in anticipation of bringing home the new baby, but a little bit of dust had collected in a few places.

 

Then he began arranging furniture as quietly as he could, moving chairs out of the way so he could pull the larger table to the middle of the living room.

 

While Sherlock worked, Molly was in and out of sleep, only getting up to use the bathroom and get drinks of water. The day sort of floated around hazily for Molly, until an hour and a half before their guests were supposed to arrive, and she determined it was an appropriate time to get off the couch.

 

“Everything smells delicious, Sherlock,” Molly murmured, leaning against the kitchen doorway. He looked up from the potatoes he was peeling and smiled. But his smile started to slip and he said,

 

“How far apart are your contractions?”

 

“An hour apart,” she answered promptly. “I’ve been in and out of it, so I’m not entirely sure.”

 

“And pain?”

 

“Same as earlier, nothing to worry about.”

 

Sherlock didn’t look appeased with her assessment, and Molly waddled her way to him, leaning down to kiss him gently. He sighed when she pulled away and rested her forehead against his. “I doubt we’ll be having the baby during our dinner party, Sherlock. Relax.”

Molly spent the remainder of her time getting ready, changing out of her comfortable t-shirt and yoga pants to a simple black cotton wrap dress she purchased for this occasion. She applied light makeup and braided half of her hair and swept it to the side in a bun.

 

When she stepped out of the bathroom, she saw Sherlock in the bedroom, and it looked like he returned the pillows to their bed. “Do you need help with anything?” She asked, feeling a little guilty that she didn’t help him prepare for a party that was her idea in the first place. “I can finish the potatoes or something?”

 

Sherlock looked up, and his eyes widened when he saw her. He swallowed thickly and gave her a small smile. “You look very beautiful, Molly.” He sauntered over to her and placed one hand on her stomach, stroking the material of her dress. His other hand cradled the back of her neck, tilting her head upwards. “I could ravish you right now,” he murmured, dropping a chaste kiss on her lips. She gasped and giggled, looking up at him.

 

“I am in no condition to be ravished.”

 

\-----

 

“I’m sorry we have to leave, but someone has to be in the morgue bright and early tomorrow!” Mike Stamford joked, kissing Molly on the cheek. “Thank you for dinner, and hopefully we’ll be seeing you soon!” Bidding farewell to Mike and his wife, Molly slowly moved back to the table and observed the rest of her friends. Sherlock was playing his violin as Lestrade, John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson cooed over Jonathan and sleeping Nathaniel.

 

Her contractions had been growing closer together all evening, but she didn’t have the heart to interrupt their dinner, especially since the pain was still bearable.

 

“Molly, are you alright?”

 

Molly opened her eyes; she could fall asleep anywhere if she was comfortable enough! “Yeah, sorry. I’m a bit tired.” She smiled apologetically at her friends, and Mary shook her head admonishingly.

 

“You’re so close to bursting, don’t apologize! We should probably help clean up and get going anyway. Don’t want to make this too late of a night.”

 

Molly tried to protest as her friends began to slowly clear the table and put away the leftovers. Mrs. Hudson held Nathaniel and moved to the couch. Jonathan moved to sit beside her, content to watch as everyone cleaned.

 

Sherlock put down his violin as Molly struggled to her feet to follow everyone into the kitchen. He gently pressed a kiss to her cheek before joining the melee of cleaning.

 

It was quiet as everyone talked amongst themselves, until Molly let out a high squeak then there was the sound of something spilling on the floor. Her eyes widened as she stood in the doorway of the deathly silent kitchen.

 

“Uh oh!” she whispered, looking down to see that she was standing in a puddle of what she perceived to be water that had previously been inside of her. “No one panic. It’ll wipe up easily on the linoleum,” she joked weakly.

 

“Molly, don’t make jokes.”

 

No one dared to mention that Sherlock’s voice was higher than his normal baritone. In fact, no one dared to do anything, just staring at Molly. Mary was the first one to break from her stupor, saying, “Surprise!”

 

Even though her heart was pounding, Molly tried to keep everything light. “Just watch your step. I don’t want you to step in this water.” She scrunched up her nose. “That would be disgusting.” Then she took a few steps back and said, “Sherlock, be a dear and call the doctor. My contractions are about ten minutes apart now. Everyone else,” she said, looking at John, Mary, and Lestrade, “stay calm. John, you’ve seen worse things as an army doctor! Mary, you’ve been through this twice. Greg, you’ve shot people.”

 

Sherlock was on his mobile in seconds, and Lestrade and John were on either side of Molly. “Can you walk?”

 

“My legs are shaking pretty terribly.”

 

“Let’s get you to a seat, then.”

 

\-----

 

Even though Sherlock had plenty of time to research what exactly he should do once Molly was actively in labor, putting what he learned into practice was much harder. He was surprisingly nonverbal in the delivery room, and between contractions, Molly had a bit of time to be worried.

 

“Sweetheart, talk to me, please,” she begged, clutching his hand. “Everything is alright. The pain isn’t even that bad.”

 

“Molly, stop trying to coddle me!” he snapped unintentionally. “You’re giving birth without pain medication; of course the pain is bad!” The nurse in the room with them glared at Sherlock’s outburst, but Molly once again took it in stride, only flinching slightly from his words.

 

“Don’t be scared. Talk to me, please, about anything.”

 

Sherlock exhaled shakily and kissed her forehead in apology. “You’re doing a very good job,” he murmured, remembering vaguely of the advice John had given him before they left for the hospital.

 

\-----

 

“She’s crowning! Molly, just one more push!”

 

Molly’s chin was pressed against her chest and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly against the blinding pain coursing through her body. She felt Sherlock tighten his grip on her thigh as he helped hold her leg in the air. Then she felt his lips peppering against her cheeks and forehead. “Very good, Molly. You can do this. You’re almost done, almost—”

 

She let out a cry as she gave the final push. Cries erupted into the room as Molly collapsed backwards and their daughter was born, screaming. She took heaving breaths as the nurses around her were scrambling to help the doctor.

 

“Oh Molly, she’s beautiful. She’s absolutely gorgeous!”

 

Molly felt like the entire world was weeping with her as the nurse placed the warm baby on her chest. She could hear Sherlock as he gasped for breath and leaned over her, kissing her head over and over as she stared wide eyed at her pink and angrily screaming baby.

 

\-----

 

_Penelope Ava Holmes was born early this morning._

_Her parents have politely asked that you give them their privacy as they settle into their new lives together._

**_I am demanding_ ** _that the press, paparazzi, and fans leave the new family alone and to not swarm the hospital. Stress like that is not good for a new baby or mother, and I know that because I’m a doctor. Besides, having the world’s only Consulting Detective on your heels because you’re bothering his wife and daughter is not something I would wish on my worst enemies._

_Thank you for your support and kindness over the past 39 weeks._

_But please respect their privacy._

_-John Watson_

Molly smiled sleepily as Sherlock finished reading aloud John’s latest blog entry. Then all was quiet in their hospital room as their daughter fought to stay away. Sherlock found he couldn’t stop touch Molly or the baby, which is why he found himself curled very gently around her, careful not to bump or jostle her in any way that could cause pain.

 

“She has your eyes,” Molly whispered, turning her head to look at Sherlock, or at least she thought she said it. There was a disconnection between her mouth and brain, but Molly didn’t quite mind it because their child was finally _here_.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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